The World Spins Madly On
by michellemtsu
Summary: Daenerys has reclaimed the Seven Kingdoms and holds Jaime Lannister prisoner for the murder of King Aerys. Will the young queen execute the Kingslayer? Future!fic, Jaime/Brienne


**Author's note:** This is my first story for ASOIAF. Hopefully, not my last? Who knows. Anyway, a couple of things. Spoilers through AFFC, with two notable exceptions. The falling out between Jorah and Dany? Let's just pretend they kissed and made up, shall we? lol And Brienne's chewed on face? Didn't happen. For this story, let's assume she got some life threatening wound that doesn't involve face chewing. I didn't have the heart to make the poor girl any uglier (unlike George lol). It's a future (and knowing GRRM will be completely AU) fic for my beloved Jaime and Brienne. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I am not a jolly old fat guy who finds sadistic please in killing beloved characters. Sorry. ;)

Stifling. That was the word that best described Jaime Lannister's life at the moment. He'd felt it only once before; he'd been imprisoned then too. But then, he could at least hear the sounds of the castle of Riverrun moving above him. He could he the sound the Trident rushing by outside. Here, in the Black Cells, he heard nothing. Saw nothing. Smelled nothing, except his own shit.

How had it come to this? Jaime wondered. He knew the answer, of course. _Aerys_. It was always Aerys. From the moment he'd slashed the Mad King's throat, Jaime had known this would be his fate. He'd managed to avoid it for a while, but in the end the gods always had their way.

Jaime didn't know how long he'd been down there. Days? Weeks? Seven hells, months? It was impossible to tell. Once a day he was brought a skin filled with water and some gruel. Just enough to keep him alive, until Queen Daenerys could decide what was to be done with him. Jaime found the young queen's indecision amusing. What else could be done with him? He killed her father. If the situation had been reversed, Jaime would have had her head off as quickly as it took for him to swing his sword.

_But you couldn't, fool. _He admonished himself for the millionth time. _Vargo Hoat took care of that, didn't he?_

As grievous as the loss of his sword hand was, it was nothing compared to other losses he'd suffered. His father dead at the hands of his brother. His brother and his children dead. Cersei was dead too; the High Septon had been appropriately humbled and horrified when he'd passed sentence on Jaime's sweet sister. Or so he'd been told. Jaime didn't know; he'd been in the Riverlands fruitlessly chasing the Blackfish. When the raven that announced his sister's death arrived, Jaime had barely reacted. He mourned her, of course. Cersei had been his life for so many years. But as much as he loved her, he was all too aware of the pain she had caused him. Years of denying how he felt. His children. His honor. All for the love of a woman who loved power far more than she'd ever loved him. It was a bitter pill for Jaime to accept, but he was better for it. At least he'd been foolish enough to hope.

Hope was a distant memory in the Black Cells. And all Jaime Lannister could do was wait.

When they came for him, it was difficult to muster the energy to stand. But Jaime refused to be dragged before Daenerys Targaryen on the arms of others. He was a Lannister. And a knight. He would meet his fate with the dignity of his station. He glared at the guards the queen had sent for him until they backed off. Then he stood on shaking legs. Slowly, painfully, they walked the seemingly endless corridors to the Iron Throne.

The Targaryen queen was resplendent. Her long white hair and violet eyes – the hallmark of her House – gleamed in the firelight. There was enough of Aerys in her face that Jaime almost stopped short. But he, like so many others, was drawn to this young girl who had reclaimed her kingdom. All around her stood her Queensguard; Jaime only recognized two: Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jorah Mormont. The others were strangers.

Painfully, Jaime knelt at the foot of the Iron Throne.

"Ser Jaime Lannister, you are charged with the crimes of treason and murder," Ser Barristan announced, not bothering to hide his contempt.

Jaime hid a smile. Kneeling still, he raised his eyes to Ser Barristan. "Treason against which king, Ser Barristan? There have been so many in these lands of late."

Ser Barristan's face hardened. "You know very well of whom I speak, Lannister."

To Jaime's surprise, the queen spoke. "Ser Barristan, please."

"As you will, Your Grace."

Daenerys turned her eyes to Jaime. "Rise, Ser Jaime."

It was much more difficult to rise than it had been to kneel. Jaime struggled to rise. When two of the Queensguard made to assist him, he shook them off and glared. The unknown knights backed off. Jaime gathered his remaining strength and forced himself upright. His height brought him eye level with the Targaryen queen.

"Your Grace is kind," Jaime said.

"Hardly, ser. I merely wanted to look my father's killer in the eye," she replied coldly.

The steel in her voice reminded him once again of Aerys. Clearly this was a woman who was not to be trifled with. But Jaime did not seem to able to control his mouth. "Madness runs through the blood of the Targaryens, Your Grace. Tell me, are you a _true_ Targaryen?"

Before Jaime could blink, Ser Jorah had a sword pointed at his throat. "You will _not_ speak to Her Grace that way, Lannister," the bear growled.

"Ser Jorah! Calm yourself, ser," the queen admonished.

Jaime noticed the look pass between the older knight and the young queen. A few long seconds later, Mormont lowered his blade and stepped back.

Daenerys turned back to Jaime. "Do you deny murdering my father, King Aerys?"

Jaime didn't hesitate. "No."

"You swore an oath to protect him with your life, ser."

"I did."

"By what right does the lion judge the dragon?"

"I did what was necessary for the good of the realm." That was all he intended on saying on the subject of Aerys. If the little dragon wanted him dead, then he wished to end this farce quickly.

Daenerys looked confused by that. What did this girl know of her father? She'd been in exile for so long. Had anyone in her life sought to enlighten her about her family? If they hadn't, Jaime certainly wasn't the one to do it. All he wanted was peace.

"Is that all you have to say in your defense, ser?"

"It is, Your Grace."

Anger flashed in the girl's lilac eyes. _"Why?"_ she demanded.

Jaime smiled. "I swore an oath, Your Grace."

"Oaths mean nothing to you, Kingslayer," Ser Barristan spat.

"I have committed many sins, Ser Barristan. Oathbreaker is the least of them, I assure you."

"Enough of this," the queen said, her voice deathly quiet. "Ser Jorah? Fetch the Queen's Justice."

_Finally,_ Jaime thought.

Before Mormont could leave, however, a tall knight pushed open the doors of the throne room. His mail was rusted and worn; the helm dirty and mud streaked. The helm obstructed the entirety of the knight's face.

The mysterious knight slowed his gait upon entering the throne room. He looked around, uncertain at how he would be received. When no one made any move to stop him, the knight quickened his pace, coming to kneel at Jaime's side in front of the Iron Throne.

"Your Grace," the knight said. And Jaime looked at the knight in disbelief. Even muffled by the helm, he knew that voice.

"Brienne," he blurted, in shock.

The knight – if it was Brienne – ignored him.

It took Daenerys a second to collect herself. "Rise, please, and remove your helm."

The knight rose and slowly removed the helm. Blonde hair came tumbling out of it. The Queen and her guard gasped at her, but Jaime paid them no mind. His eyes hungrily drank her in. He hadn't seen her since he'd sent her on the quest to rescue Sansa Stark all those years ago. She was as ugly as ever, but she looked older than he remembered, more careworn. But when she turned to look at him, her eyes were still the same astonishing blue he remembered.

"Hello, Jaime," she said.

"Brienne, what..." Jaime trailed off, not sure how to continue. For once, words failed him.

Jaime was not the only one left speechless. The queen and her knights were still reeling from Brienne's appearance. If Brienne had wanted to make an entrance, then she had certainly succeeded. That seemed unlikely; the Brienne he knew did not seek to make a spectacle of herself.

Daenerys found her voice first. "What business have you, my lady?"

Brienne glanced at Jaime once more before facing the queen. "I have come on behalf of Ser Jaime Lannister," she said in a clear voice.

"And you are?"

"Brienne of Tarth, Your Grace."

"The Freak of Tarth, you mean," one of the Queensguard muttered.

Jaime, weak as he was, had to fight the urge to punch the knight in the face. It would have been hard without his golden hand, but Jaime didn't care. How dare he speak about a highborn lady that way?

Daenerys clearly felt the same; she turned on the offending knight. "Leave my sight, ser. And do not return until you are prepared to apologize to Lady Brienne."

"Your Grace, that isn't necessary. I am accustomed to much worse."

"That is not the point, Lady Brienne. I am determined to rule my kingdom justly and well. Beginning with the simple courtesies we all should respect."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

Daenerys returned to the Iron Throne. "Why have you come on Ser Jaime's behalf? He is a traitor and a murderer, by his own admission."

"Ser Jaime saved my life, Your Grace."

_No more than you have saved mine,_ Jaime thought. Those first days after they'd taken his hand were...difficult. Jaime didn't remember much of it, except the pain. All he wanted was to die. Without his sword hand, he was nothing. But Brienne stubbornly refused to let him die. And despite everything that had happened since, he was still grateful to her for that.

"Does saving one maiden absolve him of murder and treason?"

Brienne's face fell. She turned to Jaime. "You haven't told her."

Jaime glared. "There's nothing to tell."

"Jaime..."

"Let it go, Brienne. Let _me_ go," Jaime said quietly. He reached out and took her hand. "It's all right. I've known this was my fate for a long time. You can't outrun the gods forever, wench." The old taunt had become an endearment somewhere along the way, Jaime realized. He smiled at her.

Brienne stared at him for a long time. Jaime could see the tears brimming in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Stubborn wench. Still, it meant the world to him. At least there was someone in the world who would miss him when he was gone. Someone left who knew him as Jaime and not the Kingslayer.

Brienne didn't let go of his hand when she turned to face the queen. "Ser Jaime demands trial by combat. I will be his champion."

Jaime Lannister stood there and laughed.

They returned Jaime to the Black Cells. Once the initial shock of Brienne's request had worn off, the Queen demanded her new master of laws determine the validity of a trial by combat in a case such as Jaime's. Jaime considered it a waste of time, but no one asked his opinion on the matter. So his life returned the familiar pattern of silence and darkness.

Jaime did notice one change, however. His food quality had improved greatly since his interview with Daenerys. As he highly doubted the Targaryen queen had suddenly taken pity on him, he could only surmise that Brienne was behind that as well. Jaime still had no idea _why_ the wench was going to all this trouble for him. He was a lost cause. A Knight with no sword hand, a traitor to two kings, one of which he'd killed with his own hands. He didn't even have a family to mourn him. Why did she care so much? Didn't she know that she would only be sharing his fate? Brienne deserved better than that. She was one of the few genuinely good people he'd ever known; she was wasting her time on a wretch like him.

Jaime was nearly blinded when the door to his cell creaked open. After a few seconds his eyes adjusted and he saw Brienne standing in the doorway holding a torch.

"That will be all, turnkey," she said. "Leave us."

The turnkey frowned. "Ser Jaime is not to be left alone, my lady. Queen's orders."

"He will not be alone. I will be with him. He will still be here when you return, you have my word."

The turnkey still looked doubtful. Jaime rolled his eyes. "There is no one in the realm who's word is better than Brienne of Tarth, turnkey. Best do as the lady says."

Amazingly, that seemed to do the trick. The turnkey handed Brienne the key to Jaime's cell and left. Brienne shut the door after him.

Jaime sat up on the cold stone floor. "You'll forgive me if I don't stand to receive you, my lady," he said. "They've made my floor far too comfortable, you see." He jangled the leg and wrist irons.

Brienne frowned. "I did not know you were chained, Jaime."

"Apparently, even a one handed Kingslayer is too great a threat to the new Targaryen queen."

"That is ungenerous of her. You're hardly a threat now."

Jaime grimaced. "Your faith in me is overwhelming, my lady," he snarked.

Brienne knelt beside him. "Jaime, I only meant..."

"I know what you meant, wench. Is that what came down here for? To mock me? To see how far the Kingslayer has fallen?" His tone was harsher than he originally intended, but it was the only way he had to make her understand that she should get as far away from him as possible.

"Don't say that," she shot back.

"Say what?"

"Kingslayer. That's not who you are."

Jaime smirked. "Oh, but it is, wench. The Kingslayer is all I will ever be."

"The Kingslayer didn't save my life at Harrenhal. Jaime did."

"Is that what this is about? You think you owe me? Consider that debt paid, wench."

Brienne moved to his left and hung the torch. Then she stubbornly returned to his side. What did he have to do to get rid of her?

"Why won't you just leave me be?" he asked.

"Because I care about you, Jaime. You're not the monster everyone makes you out to be."

_Tell that to Edmure Tully_, Jaime thought. _Or Catelyn Stark. Or a hundred other people._

Brienne interrupted his thoughts. "Why didn't you tell the queen about her father?"

Jaime sighed. "Because it wouldn't make any difference. Not to her. Nor should it."

"That's not true."

"Brienne, I _killed_ her father. Or have you forgotten?"

"But by doing what you did, you saved thousands of people."

"Only by breaking my oath and betraying my king, Brienne."

Brienne laughed bitterly. "Oaths are vile things. They make the world too simple."

"Brienne of Tarth against the swearing of oaths?" Jaime asked, smiling. "Are you sure you're her and not some imposter?"

Brienne didn't return his smile. "I've broken every oath I've ever sworn. Including the one to kill you."

Now Jaime was genuinely confused. "You swore an oath to kill me?"

"It doesn't matter," she replied, looking down at the floor.

Jaime raised his hand to her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Yes. It does. What happened?"

Slowly, Brienne told the story of her encounter with Lady Stoneheart – the late Catelyn Stark – and her band of outlaws. Jaime balled his fist; he desperately wanted to hit something. Or someone. Those brigands first desecrate a corpse, then take orders from it? Really though, Jaime was angry at himself. He was the one who had sent Brienne on that fool's errand in the first place. None of this would have happened if he hadn't wanted to redeem some shred of his honor.

"You should never have suffered that, Brienne," he said, his voice shaking. "Can you forgive me?"

Brienne looked at him, confused. "Forgive you? For what?"

"For sending you on that ridiculous quest to find Sansa Stark. I should have sent you home to your father."

"No, Jaime. It's not your fault. I knew the risks when you gave me Oathkeeper. I would do it again, if you asked."

"You must have a death wish, wench."

"I kept having these dreams – visions – while I was drugged and delirious. The singers always say that when the knight is close to death, his last thoughts will be of his beloved. I've found that's true."

Jaime frowned. Where was she going with this? He was surprised at how much her words hurt. Because he knew those last thoughts were not of him. What in the seven hells did _that_ mean?

"Did Renly take your maidenhead in these visions, Brienne? Because that's the only place where he _could_, you know," he said flippantly.

Brienne flushed and looked at the floor. "Gods, I'm saying this all wrong."

"What _are_ you saying, wench?"

"My last thoughts were of _you_, Jaime."

"_What?"_

Brienne gathered herself and met his eyes. Her blue bored into his green as she said, "I called for you. Repeatedly. So much that the...outlaws...thought I must be your whore."

"Pray I never meet these outlaws, my lady."

Brienne grinned, the first genuine grin he'd ever seen from her. He couldn't say it made her beautiful – she was still far too homely for _that_ – it was a welcome sight nonetheless. Jaime found himself grinning back at her.

Then Brienne did something that took Jaime completely by surprise. She leaned forward and kissed him. Her lips were softer than he'd imagined, but not at all unwelcome. The kiss was brief, tentative. She started to pull away, embarrassed at her own brazenness. But Jaime didn't let her get far. He caught her cheek in his palm to keep her still. Then he pressed his lips against hers once more. Jaime wanted to deepen the kiss, but he also didn't want to frighten her. She was still a maiden, after all. At least, he hoped she was.

That thought made him pull away. He searched her face for...something. Brienne's eyes were wide with surprise and...delight? It was hard to tell. The only woman he could read with any ease was Cersei.

"My lady, not to sound indelicate, but are you..." he trailed off.

Brienne flushed again, when she realized what he was asking. "Yes."

Jaime swallowed and silently thanked the gods. "And that was..."

Brienne's face went even redder. "Yes."

There had been a day when Jaime Lannister would have mocked her, belittled her for her embarrassment and skittishness. But that Jaime Lannister was dead. Instead, he said simply, "I am honored, Brienne."

Suddenly, Brienne couldn't look him in the eye. "Are you japing me?" she asked quietly.

"When the Queen's Justice takes off my head, I know my last thoughts will be of you."

That didn't have quite the effect he intended, however. Brienne, rather than smiling, glared at him. "That won't happen."

"I think I know my own mind, wench."

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh?"

"You're not dying."

Jaime sighed. "We're all dying, Brienne. My death will just be a bit sooner than yours."

"The queen will grant your request. I know it."

"_Your_ request, you mean. I didn't ask for anything. And even if she does, what then?"

"I'll fight."

"No, you won't."

"Jaime..."

Jaime shook his head. "No, Brienne. I don't want you dying for me. Because that's what would happen. You'd be facing a member of the Queensguard, Ser Barristan perhaps. That old fool could have killed _me_ when I had two hands."

"I have to try, Jaime," she said, obstinate.

"It's a fight to the death."

"I've killed men before."

Jaime realized he was going to have to try a different tack. "And what about your father? Would you deprive him of his only child?"

Brienne looked at him sadly. "My father is dead, Jaime. The Sapphire Isle has been laid to waste; her people slaughtered in the fighting. I have nowhere else to go."

Jaime had heard of fighting near Tarth, but did not know it had been as bad as that. "I am sorry to hear that, Brienne. I always wanted to see your home."

"I could do nothing to save Tarth or Lady Catelyn or Renly, but I can do this. I _can_ save you."

"And what if I'm not worth saving?"

"Let me be the judge of that, Kingslayer," she replied. She smiled, then leaned in to kiss him again. Her hand tangled in his golden curls as their lips pressed together. She lingered there for a long time, both of them conscious that their time together was short.

The time came when she could linger no longer. Sadly, Brienne stood and hefted her torch. Jaime immediately felt bereft. He couldn't quite believe all that transpired since she entered his cell. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost missed her leaving.

"Brienne," he called.

"Yes, Jaime?"

He should say it. He needed to say it. "Thank you."

Brienne smiled. "You're welcome, my love."

Two days later (at least Jaime thought it had only been two days), the guards came for him again. The improved food had done him a world of good; Jaime could stand and walk to the throne room completely under his own power. Unlike his last appearance before the queen, the entire court had assembled. Jaime did not look around; he kept his focus on the little queen. She was surrounded again by her Queensguard, but they looked decidedly uncomfortable. Jaime suppressed a smile, keeping his face an expressionless mask. After turning the situation over and over in his head, Jaime had come up with a plan.

He knelt once again at the foot of the Iron Throne.

"Ser Jaime Lannister," Daenerys began, "we have decided to grant your request for trial by combat. Is this still your wish?"

Jaime looked up at her. It was time to put his plan in motion. His skill with his left hand had improved greatly, but he knew it wouldn't be enough. Still, he had to try. He wouldn't let Brienne die for him.

"It is," he said clearly.

"Do you have a champion?" the queen asked formally.

"He does," Brienne said, before Jaime could reply.

Jaime turned, annoyed. Clearly, Brienne had anticipated him. He hated her a little for that.

Daenerys looked down at them sadly. "You understand that it is a fight to the death, Lady Brienne?"

"I do, Your Grace."

"Very well. Ser Jorah, will you be my champion once again?"

The bear knelt before his queen. "It would be my honor, Your Grace."

Jaime walked over to Brienne. "You don't have to do this, Brienne."

She adjusted her mail and smiled. She held his eyes for a long second, then put on her helm. Her face was lost among the metal. Jaime's guards pushed him aside and led him to the dais. All he could do now was watch.

Brienne took her place slightly to the right of the Iron Throne. Mormont stood a few feet away on her left. Both faced the queen. Daenerys Stormborn stood and addressed the court. "This trial by combat is to determine the guilt of Ser Jaime Lannister for the crimes of treason and murder. Lady Brienne of Tarth will be Ser Jaime's champion. If she should win, Ser Jaime will declared innocent before the gods and released. If she does not, Ser Jaime's head will be struck off forthwith by the Queen's Justice."

_Small mercy, that,_ Jaime thought.

The queen looked down gravely at the two champions. "You may begin."

Brienne raised her shield and drew her sword. It was no ordinary sword; it was Oathkeeper. The Valyrian steel sword had been forged from Ned Stark's own Ice. Jaime was surprised Brienne still had it. Valyrian steel was exceedingly rare. Oathkeeper was a much better sword than Ser Jorah Mormont could ever hope to wield. The Mormonts possessed such a sword, but the last Jaime had heard, the Old Bear had bestowed it on Ned Stark's bastard.

Ser Jorah recognized the Valyrian steel immediately. He was so surprised that he actually took a step back from Brienne. Jaime had to fight not to laugh. If didn't help that Brienne stood at least two hands higher than her opponent. She probably outweighed him too. But still she did not attack him. Having fought her himself, Jaime understood her strategy.

People – at one time, Jaime included – underestimated her because she was a woman. Ser Jorah appeared to be another such; he hadn't even bothered with a helm. When he backed away, there were a few snickers from the crowd. If Brienne heard them, she gave no sign. Ser Jorah, on the other hand, scowled. The knight drew his sword and attacked wildly. Brienne had little trouble deflecting his initial attack.

Rather than attack Ser Jorah in turn, Brienne circled him slowly, searching for an opening. Jorah attacked again, this time with a little more deliberation. Hacking and slashing, he drove Brienne back toward the crowd. She gave ground slowly, letting Jorah believe he had the advantage. But she never let sword get too close to her head. When he thrust, she parried. Back and forth they went. It became apparent that Jorah's lighter build gave him an advantage.. He rained down blows thick and heavy, at one point it was all Brienne could do to keep up. Once Brienne lost her footing and nearly fell. Jorah used the opportunity to sideswipe Brienne's helm, leaving a large dent in the right side. Brienne had no choice but to remove it or she wouldn't be able to see. That was when Jorah made his fatal mistake. He allowed her time to regroup. In retaliation, Brienne slashed at Jorah's shield arm, the steel of her sword ripping effortlessly through the armor and mail. Jaime could see blood dripping down onto the floor. Queen Daenerys gasped.

Brienne attacked him mercilessly, reducing his shield to splinters. Jorah was a good knight; a better than average swordsman. But Brienne's strength and skill proved to be too much for him. Jorah threw his now useless shield away and grasped his sword with both hands. Brienne did the same. When Jorah attacked, however, Brienne was ready. She sidestepped as he charged her, slashing deeply across the knight's chest. The Valyrian steel sword was dripping thickly with blood, as the bear collapsed on to the floor.

Queen Daenerys screamed and ran down to where Jorah lay. Gently, she turned him over. There was blood leaking out from under his armor, staining the queen's dress. She paid it no mind as she cradled the knight's head in her lap. It appeared to Jaime that she was very attached to her knight; they were whispering together and the queen fighting back tears. The rest of the hall was in an uproar. Jaime's guards shoved at him in disgust. While they were distracted, Jaime ran down the stairs to where Brienne was standing. She hadn't moved since dealing the fatal blow.

When Jaime got to her he saw she was crying. Happy or sad tears, Jaime couldn't tell. Brienne's hand still clutched the sword, but it was shaking violently. Jaime reached out and gently took the sword from her grasp.

"It's over, Brienne," he said softly.

That seemed to get her attention. She looked at him with those too blue eyes, a bit unfocused at first, but then she _saw_ him. She stopped crying and threw her arms around him, all dignity and propriety forgotten. It was more awkward for Jaime, as he was still holding Oathkeeper in his lone hand. He tried to hug her with his stump, but it felt wrong. As gently as he could, Jaime disentangled himself and handed her back the sword.

"I believe this belongs to you, my lady."

Brienne, her face now a shade of red that had nothing to do with swordplay, took the proffered sword and wiped it on a handkerchief before returning it to its scabbard. Together, they went to face the Targaryen queen.

She knelt as the side of her fallen champion. His eyes we closed; he looked at peace. He died as any true knight of the Kingsguard should, championing his queen. It was a good death. With one last look at the fallen knight, Daenerys rose. There were no tears, just sadness.

"You fought well, Lady Brienne."

"Thank you, Your Grace. Ser Jorah was a worthy opponent."

Daenerys turned to Jaime. "The gods have ruled in your favor Ser Jaime. As promised, you are free to go. Return to Casterly Rock, see if you can restore your family's lost honor."

Jaime decided against commenting on the unlikelyhood of _that_. He was on thin ice already. The Targaryen queen could always change her mind. Instead, he said, "Thank you, Your Grace."

Jaime did his best to ignore the hundreds of eyes that followed he and Brienne out as they left the hall. This day would not soon be forgotten in King's Landing, the day the Kingslayer got absolved by the gods on the sword of a woman. He wondered how long it would take for the singers to compose a song about it. He hoped for their sake they did not sing it in front of Daenerys Targaryen.

Jaime Lannister and the Maid of Tarth were going home to Casterly Rock.


End file.
